Tripping Over Me, Over You
by Incredibly Close
Summary: The Foot have taken up attacking local bookstores, and the turtles aren't happy about it. Why are they so interested in George's store? She doesn't have anything important...or does she? Possible Romance in later chapters.
1. What the hell?

Tripping Over Me, Over You

A/N: Okay, I'm at it again, this is another bit of work someone asked me to write for them. I enjoy the practice so I agreed. TMNT was one of my favorites when I was little, so I thought it would be fun to go through with it.

All reviews are greatly appreciated and critics are always welcomed.

Chapter One,

What the Hell?

Maybe it was the rain that made her decide to close the store early, the downpour outside was amplified by the buildings old tin roof, and the large window where the new books were displayed. It wasn't often that someone donated new books, so she liked to show them off. The rain streaked down the store-front a window, the store's name was painted in an odd, untidy scrawl that vaguely reminded passers-by of 'The Fantastics': Tall Tales, Short Lines; below that in parenthesis and smaller letters was: (a store for well loved literature).

'Well loved literature' was an eloquent way of saying 'used books', but George was fond of it and decided to keep it the way it was when her father had run the store—his untidy hand writing and all. It had been nearly a decade since her father had left the store, but everyday she half expected him to walk around one of the stacks, reading an old book and sipping at some coffee.

George kept the store running by working mostly on her own, and letting the local poetry mob to hold an open mic. on Fridays. Some of the members were really talented—but most weren't—it was a blessing as much as it was a burden, because for as many people as there were shopping, there were just as many who didn't intend to buy anything.

She dimmed the display lights and locked the front door, switching the open sign to the closed. With the weather this bad there wouldn't be many more customers anyway, and the ones that would come would only be tracking mud and letting the rain in—and if the water got to the stacks…she shuddered at the thought.

Restoration was a bitch, and that was if she only restoring old fiction books. The store, however, did have a few curiosities, books that dated back to the turn of the century or even older. One such book had turned up at the back door three weeks ago. George wasn't a real restoration expert, but she was close.

She found the book in a box at the back door, with a note inside.

_Please look after this book until I return for it, I know you to be a good person and trust you with it. Guard it well until I return_.

Oddly enough it wasn't the first time something like this had happened, so she wasn't surprised at all. The only thing that bothered her was the fact that it looked to be somewhere between three and four hundred years old, and was written in some Asian language that she couldn't read. The leather cover boasted a decorated seal complete with an oriental dragon. It was so faded that George could barley make out the characters on the cover, she was doing her best to restore it. And when the person who owned the book turned up he'd get a piece of her Irish temper, and the bill.

The storm outside began to get worse, the thunder had gotten so loud that every time it boomed overhead the stacks and the lights that dangled from the ceiling rattled. Whenever the lightning flashed the power flickered. George worried about the roof, during the last storm when the wind had gotten this bad some of the tin had come off, and the ivy that crept up the west side of the building had come undone.

The song on the radio was cut off by the storm warning, and she had to listen to the loud buzz that announced the warning for a sever storm in the area.

"No kidding," she said to the speakers and rolled her eyes.

She went behind the small counter and fished around until she found the remote to the modest stereo she'd installed in the store. She knew that any music that the radio managed to pick up would be interrupted by the storm warnings, so she might as well change it to the Cds. Cat Power began to play solemnly over the speakers and George sighed contentedly. The somber music fit the weather outside, and she enjoyed the light piano that went along in the background of most of the tracks.

Now, she get down to the business of cleaning the second story. The layout of the building was such that the second story extended loft-like over a small portion of the first, and the spiral staircase (a feature that George loved) led up to it. At the very back of the building a closet staircase led to the third story, which was her apartment.

The second story was some of the more expensive books, so it rarely got visited, which meant that it had the most dust. Which, of course, meant that if she forgot to clean it like she was supposed to (and she often did) then she'd have to spend the better part of and afternoon cleaning it at some point. Since she'd closed the shop at nine instead of eleven, George had decided that she could either work on restoring the Oriental book, or she could clean the second story, and the ground floor.

For the next hour George busied herself scrubbing the hardwood floors around the door, where the customer traffic that day had left them a mess, sweeping the dried mud, and dusting. Always dusting, this wasn't so bad, except for the one catch: George was allergic to dust. She was fine if the dust was just laying around, but when she stirred it up she couldn't stop sneezing, and her eyes got bright red and itchy. She hated it, hated it, hated it! And she had to wear a surgical mask and gloves whenever she dusted.

So there she was, curly black hair in a high pony-tail, long bangs in her face, and looking like a hazmat member, and she was only dusting. She had her bright yellow cleaning gloves on, her black apron that read: Read or Die! and she'd even thrown on a pair of chemistry goggles for good measure. She'd rolled up her sleeves and set to work, her jeans were just about filthy around her knees from scrubbing on her hands and knees on the floor.

George had a very short temper, and often she managed to get worked up over nothing—such as dusting. As she scrubbed one particularly bad shelf, she found herself getting angrier with every scrub. It wasn't just her allergies that were bothering her, business had been painfully slow lately, and she was worried about the bills that had begun piling up. She didn't want to have to lay off her part-time workers again, it was only with there help that she was about to have a social life. Maybe she could take out another loan…no that wouldn't work, she still hadn't fully paid off the last one. But, thinking of social life brought about thoughts of her newly ex-boyfriend.

She'd broken up with Justin a few days ago. There wasn't a lot of drama about the situation, he'd been ready for the next step and she hadn't. _What's the matter with me?_ She thought bitterly. _All he wanted to do was share a lousy apartment. I'm twenty-one for shit's sake! I didn't go to college, so I should be settling down, right? Hell, that's what you're supposed to do right? Sure it is, and Justin was such a great guy! He was great looking, and he was sweet. _A little too sweet actually, they never fought, and that was something George loved to do. There was nothing like the rush of a good shouting match, and nothing like the loving that came after making up.

She stopped scrubbing and stretched, thinking fondly of the nights she'd shared with him. Hell, if they were still together she wouldn't be cleaning right now. She knew exactly what she'd be doing: _him_. She had to laugh at that, and then toyed with the idea of giving him a call. _Maybe we could be friends with perks, very, very good perks._ She gave up on the idea, Justin wasn't as much as a free-sprit as she was. Whenever he thought about sex he thought: commitment and she just wasn't ready for that.

If only she had something to vent all this pent up frustration on—and then there came a knock on the door. _Yes, _she thought, _I get to dash someone's hopes_.

That wasn't entirely true. It was only ten o'clock and if the person knew exactly what they wanted she'd let them get it. Sales had been bad after all.

She got up, and pushed the goggles o the top of her head, so that they took the bangs out of her face, and let the mask dangle around her neck. As she descended the stair she took off her gloves and put them in her apron pocket. _I bet I look like a maniac chemist_, she thought ruefully. _Maybe I'll scare them off._

The person at the door knocked again. "I'm coming," she shouted, "Hold you're damn horses!"

However weird she thought she must've looked, it was nothing compared to the person at the door. Though he was silhouette by the lamps on the streets she could see he was wearing a full body suit. As she got closer they looked like a cross between black pajamas and a ninja suit—complete with a mask.

Outside

Raphael had been tracking the foot members for a few blocks now. There were six of them, and they kept to the alleys, and he kept to the roofs--a shadow to the shadows. _Oh yea! _He thought. _This is gonna be good! I need the exercise_.

It'd been a rough day, he'd fought with Leo morning, and as punishment he'd been given an extra long patrol shift. And it just figured it'd be the day it stormed the worst he'd ever seen.

He thought he'd just follow them for a few blocks, and when they got to one of the bad areas of town he'd take them out. It was what he usually did, but then they stopped at a used book store. _Tall Tales, Short Lines._

"What to those thugs want with used books?" He growled to himself. "It don't make no sense."

Five of the six kept hidden in the shadows, while one went directly to the door. Raph could see a woman inside, she went to the door, but when she saw who it was she stopped and began shouting.

_Man that gals' got some lungs on her,_ he smirked.

"Get the FUCK outta here!" He heard her yell. "I swear I'm gonna call the cops, and they can cart you're fucking body outta here when I'm done wiping the floor with you!"

_Sheesh I wonder if she can back that up?_

Inside

_There's no way I can back this shit up_, George thought, as her mind reeled for what to do. There was a bat behind the counter, and if she got to it she could take the guy out. He wasn't a big guy, but the suit was tight enough to where she could see the bulge of lean muscle.

George could handle herself in a fight, nothing fancy though, she'd been in a couple when she'd worked in a bar years ago. She could cold cock a man and send him reeling so that she could run. But if what the man had said was true, if he did have guys all around her store…then she was in big trouble.

She'd left the phone upstairs, so calling the police was out. If the guy wanted to he could come through the glass door in a heartbeat, and she hadn't set the silent alarm because she was still in the store.

He'd said that they wanted something she had, and if she gave it to them quietly they'd leave with no trouble at all. But if she refused…

On that note, someone grabbed her from behind, and all hell broke loose.

Outside

"Shit," Raph cursed, leaping from the rooftop, things had just gotten a lot more complicated.

Inside

George screamed and kicked at the guy who'd grabbed her. He had her arms pinned at her sides, and one steely forearm was pressed over her throat, gradually cutting off her air. She did her best to deliver a couple of vicious kicks to the guy's shins in her thrashing. She felt him buckle behind her.

"Let me go, you sonofvabitch. I'll kill you!"

The man at the door had disappeared, but he reappeared when the glass window shattered and he knocked all the display books onto the floor.

George gasped and looked aghast at what was happening, momentarily giving up the struggle. The man had not jumped through her window—no he'd been thrown.

Her attackers attacker stepped through the jagged hole he'd created, ignoring the glass.

"Shit," George whispered.

The man—thing?—standing in the window, lighting blazing behind him…was a giant turtle. He had a red bandana and the ends whipped behind him in the gale, in his three fingered hands he held two sai, weapons she recognized from a book she'd gotten in the week before. _War in Feudal Japan_, it'd been called, and now some giant turtle was fighting ninjas in _her_ store.

"All right, you creep, let 'er go." A surprisingly gruff voice said.

George used the moment to her advantage and aimed another kick at the guys legs. It worked, the man buckled just enough for her to pull her arms free. She grabbed the arm that was held at her throat and with a swift yank she managed to get the guy off balance enough to throw him to the floor.

George was no fool. She ran for the counter and vaulted over it. She grabbed the bat and held it up like she was in a baseball game.

"All right, what the hell is going on?" She demanded, but got no answer.

The man that had been thrown through the window got up, as did the man she'd knock down, and then four more appeared out of the woodworks.

"Heh," the turtle growled. "This is what I've been waiting for."

What followed next was so quick that George was lucky to have any memory of it at all. The ninjas attacked first, almost testing the turtle with carefully placed kicks and punches. The turtle, however, was more brazen, and after a few of these tested attacks he went on the offensive. Lunging at them, taking the on as a group, slashing with his sai, and kicking with an odd grace for his size and shape. He reminded her of a boxer, more than a ninja…turtle?

_I've got to help_, she thought, _though I must be out of my mind_.

Although as it turned out she needed help herself, two of the ninja flanked her, one on either side. They both made to grab her, but she shouted and swung the bat with all her strength.

Crack.

The bat connected the man's side and sent him flying into the wall. He fell into a crumpled heap and did not get up.

"C'mon," she snarled, hefting the wooden bat like a sword and turning around.

She didn't make it around; the other man used her momentum and threw her to the ground. She rolled across the floor, but still kept her grip on the bat.

"You've done it now," she spat, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth from where she'd bitten her lip while rolling. She wiped at it as she tried to get up, but the man didn't let her. He charged and kicked her viciously in the gut.

George gasped as she went air born, landing in some of the glass. She didn't feel the glass that cut into her arm. She was full of anger and adrenalin, and it gave her speed through the pain.

She got a leg under her and waited. The man walked slowly to her, his boots crunching the glass, and tearing the pages of the books. When he was just above her she jumped. The bat connecting with the man's head, he staggered back a few steps and then was on her again.

"SHIT!" She yelled as he pinned her to the floor.

Blood slid from the neck of the suit and dripped onto her apron. He arched back; keeping her arms pinned with his legs, and balled a fist. George shut her eyes and braced for the impact…it never came.

The turtle had grabbed the fist before the man ever let it fly, and threw him off of her.

"You all right?" he asked, kneeling beside her. "That was a nasty kick."

"Later," she gasped, struggling once more to her feet. She could feel where he'd kicked her. It was going to leave a nasty bruise, but she'd heal. "I want these guys out of here."

He smirked, "You got it."

He turned back to the ninjas. He'd knocked one of them out, and so had she, that left four.

"So, you guys are kickin' woman when there down? That's low even for you guys. And I'm gonna let you guys in on a little secret," he brandished his sai threateningly, "it _really pissed me off!_"

The remaining ninja's looked at one another and seemed to come to a conclusion, they ran for it, grabbing their fallen in their retreat. The turtle let them go, and George was in no shape to chase after them.

The two stood there for a moment, looking like they owed each other some explanation. George, however, was watching the storm, mostly on how it was coming through the broken window and soaking everything.

"C'mon," she said to the turtle, jerking her head in the direction of the back room.

The turtle looked at her confused, "Look, lady, don't take the wrong way. But I'm not chasin' 'em and you shouldn't either."

George growled and began to stalk off, "That's not what I meant. I've got some plywood in the back, so we can cover the window."

The two dragged the plywood out from the back and set it up to cover the hole. They did this silently, and it was no small feet for George. She felt like hell, her side ached from the kick, her arms stung from the glass, and her lip was swelling.

After the window was covered and reinforced, the two looked at each other. The turtle hadn't faired so well either; he had a couple of bruises and cuts.

"You look like hell," she chuckled.

The turtle looked at her dubiously, sizing her up, before saying, "Look who's talkin'."

George rubbed her arm, "Yea, I guess you're right. Listen, I've got a first aid kit upstairs, it's not much, but let me help you get cleaned up."

The turtle looked at the door. "Look, it's nothing personal, but I really should go, my bros'll be worried an' I need to figure out why the foots' after ya."

This was too much for George. She'd been attacked by ninjas, rescued by a giant equally ninja-like turtle, and to top it off her window was broken, her store was wrecked, and the display books were ruined.

"Look," she snarled taking a step towards him. "I don't know who you are, or what you are, but I'm owed an explanation!"

"But—"

"You can't just leap in here, sais a'blazing, breaking my window and then leave! Matter of fact I don't give a damn who you are! Thanks for helping me, but you're gonna march your ass right up stairs and we're going to talk about this, damn it!"

By the end of this tirade George was out of breath and the turtle looked anger. He shook and his fists clenched and unclenched. He looked like he was about to start shouting back at her, but George's legs gave out.

He lept for her and caught her around the shoulders, gently looping one arm around her waist. He marveled at how small she was, she seemed so much bigger when she shouted at him with her hands on her hips.

"Plus," she continued weakly, "I don't think I can make it up the stairs by myself. I'm George, by the way."

"I'm Raph."

"Raph, huh? That's an odd name," she said directing him to the closet staircase. She sharply drew a breath at the first step, she must be worse off than she thought.

"Yea? It's short for Raphael and what're you talkin' about? You're name is George."

"It's short for Georgia—that's where I was born."

"You were named after the state you were born in?"

"It's a long story and I don't feel like getting into it right now."

They reached the top floor without incident and George opened the door. Her apartment was actually very nice, small, but nice. One bedroom, one bath, a living room and kitchenette, George even had a small washer and dryer off the side.

She limped to the kitchen, and rooted around under the sink until she found the first aid kit. Raphael stood in the middle of the 'living room' and looked around.

There was an old green couch in the middle of the room, and a coffee table and large television in front of it. There were old National Geographic's and Cosmopolitans littered around, and a T.V. tray to one side of the couch.

George set the kit on the tray and sat the in matching green recliner. "Damn I hurt," she moaned.

"You curse a lot," Raph observed.

"Hell yeah I do," she replied, gently taking off her apron, and pealing off her shirt. Raph actually blushed a little and averted his eyes, suddenly finding the ceiling and fan very interesting. "Relax I'm wearing a cami underneath."

He let out a silent sigh of relief and opened the first aid kit.

George hissed in pain as the shirt came off. Her black cami got caught on her black bra, but she didn't pay attention, she was too busy being in pain.

Raph whistled, not at her sudden exposure of skin, but at the giant bruise that was forming along her left side. George tenderly ran her right hand over it, while she held her left hand aloft, fist clenched in pain.

"He really did a number on you," Raph said.

"Thank you Captain Obvious—"

"And you've still got some glass in yer arm."

"Figures."

George lifted the arms for inspection, the cuts weren't too deep, just long, they traced the length of her forearm. Most of the glass had either fallen out, or hadn't gotten stuck in her to begin with, so she only had to pick out a few pieces. She gingerly did so with a pair of tweezers she had Raph get from her bathroom's medicine cabinet.

She struggled awkwardly to clean the cuts on her own, until Raph snatched the bandages away and growled, "Lemmie do it."

"Thanks," she said genuinely. His touch was surprisingly light as he cleaned the cuts. "You act like you've done this before, Casanova."

He grunted, not looking up, "Yea, well, all part of being a ninja."

She hissed as the disinfectant got into a cut that still had a shard of glass in it.

"Hold still," he warned. "This piece is in kinda deep."

She sat as still as she could as the tweezers probed her arm for piece. He may have been graceful with his sai, but his efforts were a little clumsy with the small metal tweezers. George's legs twitched in pain, and her uninjured fist clenched.

"That hurts," she groaned.

"Well you shoulda left the fightin' to me."

"What—AH!" She cried out when the glass came free, blood spurt from the wound and got on her jeans. The thought that it might stain flitted through her mind. "Ergh, I mean what do you mean left all the fighting to you? I helped plenty, and you're friggin' welcome, you ass!"

The pain was making her angry, he could tell, and she was nervous that was making her angry to. Raph was loath to admit that she had actually help…but just a little! He had everything under control, but she just had to come in swinging her bat like some medieval night. What a joke! He couldn't believe she called that fight; it was more like she flailed around and got a few lucky hits. Good hits though, he thought proudly. This girl had a lot of fight in her, a bit too much, and way too much mouth. She could be a chick version of Casey! The thought actually gave him a headache so he focused more on the task at hand: dressing her wounds.

They weren't terrible, but they were pretty bad. It was mostly the giant bruise on her side that was worrying him. The cuts would heal, and the scars would be minimul, but some of her ribs could be bruised—he couldn't tell.

"Listen, I don't give a damn what you think you can do, but fighting ain't one of 'em!"

George sighed, "I really wanna fight with you, believe me…but right now I just don't feel up to it, you infuriation green jerk! But I really, really feel like I'm about to pass out—"

"Don't!" He yelped, "I ain't got the slightest clue what to do if you pass out…but Donnie might!"

"Donnie?" she asked wearily.

"He's my brother."

"How many of you are there?"

"Three more turtles, one rat, one chick, and one guy."

George let her head drop back and sighed, "Great, call them all here, we'll have a party and I can get picture for my insurance company!"

"I'm just gonna call my brothers to come and look after you cuz I'm no doctor—"

"No kidding?"

"—but my brother Donnie is as close as we're gonna get. An' if you don't quite with yer sarcasm I'm gonna gag ya!"

George tried to get up, but Raph put a hand on her shoulder. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just upset. I don't mean to take it out on you, I promise."

Raph rolled his eyes and got up, "I'm gonna go call the others, it shouldn't take them long to get here."

As Raph walked to the balcony, where he was sure he'd get signal on his 'shell-phone' (har har).

"Hey, Raph," George called after him.

"Yeah?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Thanks."

He just smiled and gave her the thumbs up and he walked out.


	2. Brotherly Love? Cheay' right!

Tripping Over Me, Over You

A/N: Thanks to my two reviewers! I love you both dearly for the reviews. Anyhow, this story is _flowing_ very well. I'm not having any trouble with seeing the stories future, which is great!

Chapter Two,

Brotherly Love? Cheay' right!

It didn't take Raph long to explain everything to his brothers. Leo yelled at him for being so careless, but Raph did the same thing he always did when Leo started ranting: he yelled back so loud that he drowned Leo out.

"Well I don't care how careless I was, fearless leader," Raph yelled, "you get your shell down here and bring Don with you! Why? Because she's cut to pieces that's why! No, no one cut her, it's just some broken glass. Well, I sorta threw a guy through the store's window and—"

Raph held the phone away from his face as Leo's shouting grew louder. He vaguely heard: _We'll be there in five_, before the dull buzz of a dead line cut through the silence. He sighed and tucked the phone away, looking up at the nights sky for some hint of stars. He remembered how shocking it was when they were all out at Casey's grandma's house. He was so used to the sky being black, with the occasional flicker of a satellite or a star; but out in the country it had been nothing short of breath taking. He missed the stars now, he'd never felt there absence until he knew they were out there and he just couldn't see them.

He tucked his thumbs into the front of his belt and went back inside. George was in the kitchen, carefully trying to make something. He called out that his brothers were on there way, and Don was going to fix her up when he got there. She said she was fine, and didn't need to be looked after, but continued rooting around in fridge.

"Whatcha' doin'?" He asked.

George didn't turn around, it wasn't because she was being rude, it was just that the pain in her side had gotten so bad that it hurt to turn. "Trying to get a glass of sweet tea," she explained, trying to reach a glass from the top cabinet. "You want some?"

Raph came up beside her, he could see through her pained expression that she was having a tough time. The bruise was beginning to darken and grow, it looked like it was going to run the length of her side. George noticed him looking at the bruise.

"It doesn't hurt a lot," she lied. "Ten bucks says he was wearing steel-toed ninja shoes."

Something squirmed inside of Raph, he couldn't quite place what it was, but it felt like some twisted mixture of anger and regret. "I shoulda been faster, shoulda dropped what I was doin' and stopped that guy from kickin' ya!"

This outburst surprised George so much that she stopped reaching for the glass. "Hey there, Nancy, the only thing you're gonna regret is not getting me down a glass so I can get us some tea, alright? Don't worry about it, I've had worse."

_Good save_, she thought.

Raph did as he was told, and George poured them both some tea. The amber liquid filled each glass, tiny scraps of tea leaves floated around, signifying that she was almost out.

"Sweet tea is a gamble," she said, swirling the tea around, the ice ticked against the glass. At Raph raised eyebrow she continued, "Sometime it comes out right, but sometimes you follow the directions perfectly but it still sucks." She took a sip from the glass and smile, "I win this round."

Raph drank his silently, he wasn't thirsty, but thought that it would be rude (even for him) to turn it down. It turned out to be delicious. "That makes two a' us."

Suddenly there came a knock…at the balcony window.

"Shit," George hissed, whirling around.

"Relax," Raph said, "It's just my brothers."

One by one they three filed in; blue, purple and orange. The one with the blue mask had his eyes narrowed at Raph, the purple was carrying a box with a red-cross over a turtle shell on it, and the orange was wide-eyed and looking around the apartment like a child at Christmas.

_Such an odd bunch_, George thought. "Alright," she said, holding up one had to halt them. The procession stopped. "Who's who?"

"I'm Leonardo," the blue said, still looking at Raph. "And I'm sorry for any trouble my brother's cause you."

Raph started to shout, but George laid the hand holding the glass on his chest, the condensation running down the grooves in his front shell. "Save it," she said. He crossed his arms and looked at the ceiling. If looks could kill, the building would have collapsed under the pressure of his gaze.

The purple one settled the box on the coffee table, and opened it, taking out its contents carefully. "I'm Donatello, but you can call me Don, or Donnie. Now could you please set down on the couch so I can have a look at you?"

George, for once, did as she was told. Don unwrapped the bandages on her arm and began to examine the cuts. Leo and Raph started a glaring competition.

"What about you, slick?" George asked the orange.

He snapped to attention, seeming to notice her for the first time. "I, pretty lady, am Mikey, the most handsome, and _single_ turtle on the market," he announced waggling his eyebrows.

George rolled her eyes.

"Geez, Mikey," Don said, shaking the can of disinfectant spray. "You just met the gal, cut down on the charm okay?"

"Alright then," Mikey said, bouncing back immediately. "Got anything to eat around here?"

"MIKEY!"

"What?" He asked innocently, holding his empty hands out.

George interrupted what promised to be another fight by saying, "There's some cake in the fridge, help yourself."

"You don't know what you've just done," Don groaned.

Mikey let out a whoop of happiness and bolted to the fridge.

"I'm not going to lie to you," Don said, holding the can of disinfectant a few inches from her arm. "This is going to hurt."

"I'm live—SONOFVABITCH!" George's fist clenched, as her arms spasmed from the spray. "What've you got in there, sand!"

"Calm down…?"

"George," she supplied.

Mikey snorted from somewhere in the kitchen.

"It's short for Georgia."

"Can I call you Georgie?"

"Not if you wanna live to see the sun again."

This actually got a chuckled from Raph, who'd given up the glaring match and settled himself into the chair. Leo stood at the other end of the couch, and watch Don work.

"Miss. Georgia—" he began.

"You got a death wish too?" She asked through gritted teeth, Don had found another piece of glass and dug it out.

"George," he amended. "What exactly happened tonight?"

Don had finished and began rewrapping her arm, George sighed in relief. "Well, I closed the shop early to clean the second story…but I guess now I'm gonna have to clean the first story again. Anyway, then this guy came to the door dressed like a ninja, and told me to let him in."

"What'd you tell him?" Mikey asked, settling himself in front of the coffee table with his chocolate cake.

"I told him to fuck off, it'd my shop, no one tells me what to do."

"You sound like Raph," Mikey said through a mouthful of cake.

"And you sound like a slob with your mouth full."

"Point to you," he designated, flicking a check mark in the air.

George smiled before continuing, "Then I asked him what he wanted, and he said that I had something his master wanted and that it would be in my best interest to let him have it because he had the shop surrounded." She shuddered remembering the fear that the threat had caused her. Leo nodded along with her, and Mikey watched intently from the floor. Don continued his work, and Raph had taken interest in the ceiling again.

"I told him I didn't have anything he'd want in my shop and that if he didn't leave I was going to wipe the floor with his ass. Then someone grabbed me from behind, that's when this guy showed up," she finished, nodding to Raph.

Raph just shrugged and said, "I saw them earlier and followed 'em. When the jumped her I jus' had to do somethin'."

"Yeah, well you didn't have to smash my window," she argued, point her newly bandaged arm at him.

"What? Look, lady, if it wasn't for me you'd be dead by now!"

"I know and I said 'thank you'!"

Mikey followed the fight like a ping-pong match, his head whipping to face whoever spoke. Don just sigh and said, "George, hold still for a minute, I gotta check how bad this bruise is…now tell me does this hurt."

"MOTHER FUCKER!" She howled. "Could you try not to burst liver when you're poking around down there!"

Raph laughed, "Quite being such a baby."

"I will if _you_ quit being such a _girl_ about all this."

"Girl? _Girl!_"

George pointed at him, "See, there you go, queering the deal up."

Mikey was howling with laughter at this point, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "George I love you!"

By this time Raph face had gotten beat red from fury. "Look, the next time you're crummy shop gets attacked by the Foot, I'm not gonna save ya'!"

"Foot? What the hell is the Foot? What kind of stupid as name is that for a crime ring?" She struggled to get up, but Don put a firm hand on her shoulder.

"You need to calm down, George, all this blood rushing through your system is just making it worse. From what I can tell, you've bruised a rib or two, and the lining on your organs has swelled up. You _need_ to take it easy."

"I'll take it easy when Captain Beef-Head over there cleans the glass from my shop floor," she said, settling down, "and someone here answers my damn question!"

Leo spoke up, "The Foot are an group of ninjas who work for own sworn enemy—"

George mouthed the words 'Sworn Enemy?' to Mikey.

"The Shredder, he's like the baddest of the bad, babe. He's tried to kill us like a dozen times."

"Why?"

"Because he's jealous of our good-looks and animal magnetism—"

Leo cut in, "—we don't really know why. He just hates us. He obviously wants something you have…do you know anything that might be of any interest him?"

George thought for a moment, "To a crime lord? No, not really…but to a ninja…hell, I don't know. I don't think I've got a whole lot of ninja books."

Leo seemed to mull this over for a long while before saying, "Do you mind if we look around your shop?"

"No, not at all, you guys can have the run of it anytime you want." Then like lighting an idea suddenly struck her, it was a wonderful idea…a wonderful idea indeed.


	3. Turtle Time After Nine!

Tripping Over Me, Over You

A/N: Okay, this story is progressing as planned. I'm really happy about that. I'd like to sincerely thank my reviewers; it makes the story worthwhile to know that some folks appreciate it. Thank you guys!

I know my spelling and grammar could use some work, but my college's classes have just started and I don't have as much time as I'd like to work on that. I'll just have to get better through trial and error.

Chapter Three,

Turtle Time After Nine!

"Turtle Time After Nine!" She proclaimed excitedly, brandishing the sign she held at Raph and Leo. Donnie and Mikey had left an hour earlier, on Leo's orders, to inform Master Splinter about the situation.

George saw Raph's eye twitch. It was a brilliant idea, she explained. After nine o'clock people could come in dressed as turtles and get discounts based on how good the outfit was.

"That way you guys can walk around the shop all unnoticed and what not," she said, taping the sign to the door. The little rays of dawn were creeping between the buildings. George was putting on a tough show, but she was dead tired and was having some trouble walking. She leaned on the walls, and counter for support when she thought no one was watching. _Just a little while longer_, she kept thinking, _and then I can go upstairs and die._ It was Sunday tomorrow (today?) and that meant it was her day off.

They'd spent the last few hours together talking, and cleaning. Leo had offered to do it, but George had browbeaten Raph until he finally snapped. He begrudgingly too up the dust pan and swept up the shards, before sweeping the entire store. It had been hilarious (to George), he was the most muscular of the brothers, and seeing him knelt down with a tiny dustpan had been too comical to not laugh at.

Donni had helped fix the fallen shelves, and organize the books better that George had ever done. She'd considered trying to hire him. Leo had already looked around the building for any architectural significance (pentagrams, or ninja symbols carved into the walls—or so George guessed). Mikey had tried his best to keep out of the way, and mostly talked to George. He reminded her of a younger brother, and George was starting to develop a soft spot for him in that sense.

"Why can't you jus' keep the shop close for a few days?" Raph asked.

George lowered her arms slowly, after smoothing out the wrinkles on the sign. Her shoulders dropped and she turned to face the two. "Listen," she began quietly, "Business has been slow lately, real slow. I'm worried about paying the bills. I won't loose this shop. So, I can't afford to keep it closed for a few days. A few hours, sure, no problem, but looking through these books will take some time—time I can't loose."

Leo bowed his head, "I'm sorry for my brother's foolishness."

"It's okay," George smiled, and put a hand on his shoulder. "I really like you guys," her voice was starting to get weaker. "And I owe Raph a lot, he really saved me today."

Raph came from around the corner, he'd put her apron on, and was clutching the broom like a bo staff. He'd never done any real house work before, so this was new for him. He was really clumsy with the broom, and kept knocking things over, Mikey had cried buckets full of joyful tears at the sight. Something in George's voice had made him stop cleaning.

"Are you alright?" Leo asked, he too had started to worry. She hadn't taken her hand off his shoulder; in fact she'd actually applied more weight to it. _She's really hurt_, they both realized.

Sometimes the brothers forgot how fragile humans were, how soft their skin is, and how easily they bruise.

"She's been up all day," Raph said in dawning realization. "She's been up all day and she'd hurt. She said earlier she felt like she was gonna pass out. Why didn't you tell us you were this bad off?" he demanded, "We coulda' taken care a' this mess ourselves!"

"If fine," she insisted, straightening back up, and smoothing out her shirt. _Liar,_ her brain hissed, _You need rest and you need it now!_

The last thing she saw were the faces of the two worried turtles.

When George collapsed Leo was there to catch her, he lifted her small frame with relative ease, mindful of her severely injured side.

"What the hell did she go and do that for?" Raph snarled, setting the broom against the nearest shelf. "Why didn't she tell us she was still hurtin'."

Leo began to make his way back to the stairs to her apartment. "Maybe she didn't want us to worry, or maybe she didn't know she was about to collapse."

"That's a load a bull," Raph replied eloquently. "I bet she was just tryin' to suck it up and act tough—"

"Like you?" Leo interjected, he did not look back at his brother as he ascended the stairs. He was beginning to draw the similarities in the two's personalities and it worried him.

Leo had begun to like George, but if she was going to ignore her body's needs every time they were around her…well then maybe they shouldn't stick around longer than they had to. All four of the brothers were desperate for human company, or company of any kind, but it put someone in danger (even from themselves) then maybe it was best they weren't around. Leo pondered all this, but said nothing; he would discuss the matter with Master Splinter later.

"Well, I was gonna say Casey…" Raph continued. "But, hey, maybe she is like me. Tough girl, ain't she?"

"Yes," Leo said.

They reached the apartment door, and found that George hadn't locked it when she'd left.

"Should we put her on her bed?"

"I think so," Leo agreed, and walked down the small (and only) hallway. There three doors at the end of it. The one on the right led to a small bathroom, the middle was a closet, so the left was her room.

Raph went first and opened the door. George's room was small; the majority of the room was taken up by the large bed with clean, white sheets. There was a small vanity to one side with a laptop and printer covered up with magazines, books, cosmetics and hair junk.

"Wow she's a slob," Raph whistled.

It wasn't that George was a slob, nothing in the room was dirty--besides the pile of laundry—she just wasn't organized. There were stacks of books everywhere, magazines, and there collages glued to the walls. Old black and white photos were plastered to one wall, and clipping from newspapers. Mobiles and wind-chimes hung near one of the large windows that ran the length of the back wall so that she had a perfect view of the alley below.

Raph noticed that one of the windows was open, and it was probably the way that one of the ninja had gotten in…and would more that likely be the way that his brothers (and himself) would be coming in from now on.

The only thing that wasn't decorated, painted, or glue to anything was her bed. It remained plain in a roomful of insanity; just a queen-sized bed with plain white linens, and three large pillows.

Leo laid George gently on the bed, and took off her shoes before drawing the sheets up over her. She sank a little into the mattress, but remained asleep. Leo checked her pulse and felt her forehead.

"Well, her pulse is fine, and she doesn't seem to have a fever. I'm sure she was just exhausted."

"Yeah, well, she deserves a rest after what happened," Raph admitted. She looked so small to him, while she was lying in the bed. Her face was relaxed and looked peaceful; she didn't have the usual scowl he's gotten used to seeing over the past few hours. She did that a lot, he realized, he'd only ever seen her relaxed when she'd been joking with Mikey. There was an odd twinge of jealously in his chest.

"Hey, Raph," Leo said, waving a three-fingered hand in front of Rah's face.

"Huh?"

"I said, should one of us stay with her?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll do it. You go on back to the lair and I'll call you when she get's up."

Leo nodded curtly and went to the window. The sun had just come up and Leo could already see some people coming out of the buildings on the street outside the alley. A few of them were heading out, and a few were stumbling home. The air smelled clean, and wet, the way it always smelled the morning after it rained. He took a moment to enjoy it, while he was sitting in the window, and to get his bearings.

Then he leapt out of the window, raced along the sill of the building and jumped into the alley. He jumped onto a dumpster and kicked off, launching himself at the open man-hole that Donnie had left open for him. There was a flash of a green arm, and the hole closed up. Leo was gone.

Raph watched silently from the window after his brother. _Damn he's quick_, he thought grudgingly, _I'm gonna hafta train harder if I wanna beat him._

Then Raph realized something; what was he going to do until George woke up?


	4. O’Keeffe

Tripping Over Me, Over You

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys!

Chapter Four,

O'Keeffe

The first few hours in the apartment were nothing. Raph spent that time napping on the couch, doing a few exercises (his determination to beat Leo had grown even stronger), or watching some television.

It was Sunday morning, so there wasn't a lot on, just the news, some talk shows and a couple of kid's cartoons. He channel surfed for a while before giving up on it.

He checked on George every half hour, but she'd started to move around in her sleep, so he wasn't worried about her. _She's just exhausted_, he concluded before settling down in the comfy arm chair he'd moved in from the living room.

Raph had flipped through her book collection, and picked out one entitled _Firmin_. The book had been sitting on the nightstand next to the old lamp. It was a new book, the spin barley broken. The back said that it was about a rat that lived in the basement of an old book store (déjà vu?) and learned to read and talk, and eventually tired to fit in with society. Raph could already tell that the book would not end well, but it spoke to him, and he decided to leaf through it for a while.

He stretched his long green legs out, and propped his feet up on the end of the bed that George wasn't sprawled out on. He groan a little as he stretched, feeling the strain in his muscles. He always got sore when it was cold, so did the rest of the turtles.

He opened the book, and a small picture dropped out of the pages. It was George's father, Raph could tell just by looking at him. She was the spitting image of him; curly black hair, dark eyes and complexion, leanly built. It was spooky really. The man had a warm smile, and was holding his fingers up in a peace sign, the other arm was looped around George. The picture must have been fairly old, George had very short hair in the picture, tomboy-ish and curly. Her face was young, smooth and worry free, she even had a big goofy smile on her face, and she was looking up at her father with a daughter's love in her eyes.

He smiled sadly at the picture, and couldn't help but feel another twinge of envy in his heart. To grow up in a normal family, with normal friends, attend school and just hang out. He'd been blessed with a loving family and a good (albeit odd) home, but he still couldn't help but pine for a normal life. Maybe a life where he didn't have to hide underneath a trench coat, or behind a mask—where he could walk on the streets at noon and not worry about what people thought of him, a life that he didn't have to fight to keep. Oh, and normal people didn't have to fight ninjas!

He turned the picture around and there was something written on the back: O Keeffe_The O'Keeffe family before the cancer._ _We're a happy family._

_Cancer? _He thought. _She doesn't have cancer_.

He put the book on his lap, and began rummaging through the mess on the night stand, sure enough there was anther picture there. This one was of George and her father again, but in this one her father's long hair was gone. He was making the same peace sign with his fingers, and his arm was looped around George. His face seemed older, with more wrinkles around the edges of his eyes. But, George had changed; her hair was a bit longer, but the smile was gone from her face. There were dark circles around her eyes from not sleeping, and she had a scowl on her face, but her eyes held the same love for her father, it was just a sad, faraway love.

_Oh,_ he couldn't help but think, _so that's what happened to her._

On the back there was another message. _The O'Keeffe family after the cancer…but still just as happy, right baby doll? You should smile more, like you used to._

So it had been her father who wrote the messages on the back. The twinge of envy was gone from Raph's heart, and replaced with something like pity. He didn't dwell on it long, he was too tired, but he did draw the connection of her name. There was a famous painter in the early 1900's, she'd painted these huge pictures of giant flowers. Her name had been Georgia O'Keeffe.

The irony wasn't lost on Raph as he picked up the book and book and began to skim through its chapters. His eyelids were heavy, and it wasn't long before he drifted off to sleep, the book dropping back into his lap, and his head falling to his chest.O Keeffe


	5. Thoughts In A Shower

Tripping Over Me, Over You

A/N: Thanks for the reviews you guys. Sorry the updates are slow, but I've managed to catch a cold despite the sweltering summer heat. College colds suck!

Chapter Five,

Thoughts In A Shower

The first thing that George saw when she woke up was the ceiling fan, its slow rotations were memorizing. For the briefest of moments she was wonderfully oblivious to everything. Sleep clouded her mind, and rubbed her eyes, moaning as she flipped to her left side. The green figure slumped in the chair next to her bed sent a twinge of panic through her; then everything came rushing back.

"Shit," she groaned and flipped to her other side, then the soreness hit her like bus. "_Shit!_"

Raph snorted awake, the book flying from his lap. "What's that! What's wrong!" He dropped his legs and the chair rocked back into place, with a quick motion he drew his sai from his belt.

"Hey Raph?" George asked, drawing her legs to her chest, he back facing him.

"Yeah?" He put his sai back into his belt and rubbed his eyes, blinking rapidly at the sunlight streaming through the blinds.

"Did you get that number?"

"What number."

George groan again before flipping back over, still covered by her sheets. She too found it hard to adjust to the sunlight, and drew the covers over her head. "You know, the number of the bus that hit me."

Raph snorted with laughter. "Yeah," he chuckled, yanking the covers off of her. "It's 1-800-Get-Your-Ass-Outta-Bed!"

George snatched the sheets from his hand, and sat up, drawing them around her. At some point while she was asleep she'd pulled her pants off. It was an odd thing she did, kind of like how some people kicked their socks off. She was a little shocked at being pant less, but then she felt them around her bare feet and knew she'd done it herself. It also didn't help her because she was wearing he granny-panties—the big gray ones.

"What time is it?"

Raph turned around to look at the clock, it blinked 6 o'clock.

"Well hot damn," she said, running a hand through her tangled weave of hair. "Slept like a log didn't I?"

Raph got up and stretched, not commenting. He popped his fingers and his shoulders. Sleeping sitting up in a chair was never comfortable. George got up, the blanket was wrapped around her in a mummy-like fashion, and she took mincing little steps that oddly reminded her of a geisha towards the vanity.

She groaned inwardly at the site. She looked like train wreck, her hair was stiff and sticking out in odd directions, and the black eyeliner and mascara that had been perfect the night before was now smeared across her face. _It tastes like something died in my mouth_, she thought as she chewed her tongue.

"I look like a depressed poet," she said, making a face at the mirror.

"And you smell like one," Raph chirped helpfully.

"Oh, curl up and die!"

"You almost did."

"I'm going to take a shower!"

"Good! You need one!"

There arguments were childish at best, but George didn't care, she was always grumpy when she first woke up. The dull ache along her side didn't help any. She stopped to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

"Don't bother taking the bandages off of your arm," Raph yelled through the door. "Those are waterproof; Donnie made 'em so they'd stay on us whenever we went to the lair."

George busied herself by trying to drag a brush through the rat's nest that was her hair. "Lair? Just where exactly do you guys live?"

He muttered something, but it was lost when she turned on the hot water.

"What did you say?" she yelled.

"THE SEWERS!" he hollered back.

"WHAT!" And you're calling me smelly?"

"Says something about 'cha, don't it?"

George screamed something that sort of sounded like 'argh!', and kicked the door. Raph must've had his ear to it because he gave a yelp. With a smirk of satisfaction George started to peel off her clothes. They'd gotten mudded in the in the fight, from where she'd been thrown to the ground. After undressing George looked in the mirror, and examined her bruises and scraps.

"Sweetie," she said to herself, "you've seen better days--much better."

She felt the hot water rush over her, and goose bumps ran the length of her body. She shivered and relished the feeling. As she scrubbed her body she let her mind drift off and thought about what was happening.

_Turtles_, she groaned inwardly, _what is the world coming to? _What did all this mean? There were four of them, just four and one giant rat. _I can handle a rat_, she assured herself, _if and when I meet him_.

How long would it take to find what they were looking for, and what would happen when they found it? Would they stick around? She hopped they did, contrary to popular belief it was hard to make friends as an adult. She had a couple of people she went out with on occasion, but she got lonely. Having the turtles around felt oddly like being a part of a family again, and she desperately missed the feeling.

She hoped that whenever this whole business was sorted out she'd be able to see them again. _Even Raph_, she smirked, _Yeah, even Raph._


End file.
